


The King is dead, long live the King

by iamuseless



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22911823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamuseless/pseuds/iamuseless
Summary: A coronation is a double edged sword.





	1. And so the wheel turns

The crown was cold in his hands. A heavy weight of gold that stood solemnly in the dark. The jewels glisten even with the night drawn in, carrying the moonlight through them and projecting flickers throughout the room.

The candel on his desk was burning low, he had told the servants to leave him for the night in the royal office and hour or so ago but had not the will to change the candel himself.

He ran a finger over one edge. His hands were warm but numb, so much different from his father's.

His father had been a man who fit the description of king. Tall, dark, handsome, a body made for combat and the fight. His hand large and calloused, but alway warm for his son and wife to hold. His broad sholders carried the ceremonial cloak as well as they did armour. The red velvet and fur lining almost suited him, the tail of it swooping after his great strides and powerful gate.

That same cloak now seemed to swamp its new owner. Neither as tall nor as broad, this younger frame could easily be eaten up by its swirling mass. The hands that now held the crown, as well, were dwarfed by the thing; like the very idea of it knawed at his knuckles making them jut out in boney points. Blue vains crawed up, looking sickly nexted to the dazzling aqua of the jems. Chipped chewed nails felt inadequate compared with the intricate metal work.

He felt sick. A cavernous hole inside his chest gaped open to swallow him whole. He was no more a king now then he was yesterday, or the day before.

But the looming truth of the matter spoke the contrary.

The late King's funeral had been a week ago, and on this day his only son had taken his place of the throne. The way it had always been intended.

He had been trained all his life for this crown the now rested in his palms. Groomed and tailored for this role and thus alone. It had been his destiny. By the Gods, it was his very birth right.

So how now in the darkness did he beg for something else?

Part of his expected his father to walk through the door. Risen out of the battle to make amends. To tell him he wasn't ready yet. To assure him this day was still yet to come.

But he did not.

The King had died, as all King's should, in the heat and fire of battle. Fighting a war that was just and honest and good. Knocked off his horse by some ravaging army, defending his kingdom, his castle, and his people.

They had won, now. The war was over. There had been rejoicing in the streets at the news, hope lost after the King had been proclaimed dead. They had won. It was supposed to be okay.

His son was deemed the very pinnacle of a noble heir, to follow such a noble King. The heir himself however felt as far from that as if he were a common ploughman plucked from a days work in the fields to sit upon a throne not ment for him.

There had been no debate over his legitimacy, although he himself had raised the question. He had an older brother, on his mother's side, a babe married into the house with their mother. But his claim had been shot down swiftly as it had been aroused. His brother, although the son of the queen, was not the son of a King. His father had been an anonymous soldier he had never met, dead to the combat not long after his birth.

Beside that no one had any idea where this brother now resided. The court only knew he was a wizard and no fit heir, so the claim had been dismissed.

He didn't even now where his brother was to tell him the King was dead. He hoped his brother knew. Somehow had heard the news on whatever travels he had chosen to embark on. He would have liked to tell him himself, but as the funeral drew closer no such opportunity was found. 

It had been a grand occasion. A melancholy procession carried the coffin through the streets ending at the abbey where his father's father's father had been laid to rest. The young King had kept an eye through the crowds, combing them relentlessly for even a hint of the silly hat his brother had been so fond of the last time they had met. But his efforts turned fruitless.

The same was felt at his own coronation. The flags and banners turned from black to the reds and golds of the royal house. His own suit of solum black changed to a deep burgundy. But once again, not even the tail of a shadow was seen.

Maybe it was better that way. Taking on the kingdon was tax enough to not worry about the scadel that might be caused by a wizard at the abbey.

Alone now in his chambers, he held his future. A grand ornament ment for public ceremony and grandeur that his life now would hold.

He was to become the voice of reason in the court. The speaker of the house and the protector of the faith. His own views must be sidelined by the interest of the kingdom.

It was all too much for one young man to bear. The weight crushing in on him out of the gloom of the room.

He threw the crown on to the desk, a terrible clatter following as metal hit wood. He sat back in his chair.

This chair he was now to command troops from, sign tax bills and notices for war, to write up edicts and edits to new laws. This little chair, unlike the throne, was truely his command post with its squeaky wheel, battered back and worn padding. A chair his father had been stationed in many long nights, as he worked into daylight hours. A chair, that as a boy he had sat, perched on his father's knee almost falling asleep in pale blue pyjamas.

By the Gods.

He still could not quite believe his father was gone. That was the worst of it all. He could not fathom in his mind that great man laying dead, and yet he had seen it with his own two eyes. Seeing that kind patient face pale and old, with its owner laying so peacefully stiff on a bed of rock that was his tomb, felt wrong. 

It was the same nagging wrong that had haunted him after his mother had passed away. Like this was all some dream. Some awful kind of dream that would have him tossing a turning in the wee hours, only to be woken and soothed back to sleep by his mother's soft touch and gentle voice.

It was worse this time however. When his mother had passed away his father was still there to lean on at her funeral. But now, now he was alone. Truely alone. The crown only made this fact surer, as with its privileged came its costs. He had to put away childish things now. His concerns had to be that of the entire kingdom.

He was alone. In this castle full of people, he was well and truely alone.

He held his head in his hands, almost begging for the vomit that never came. Instead retching sobs shattered through his rib cage, huffing out in silent waves of snotty tears.

The crown stood on the desk forgotten. The royal cloak shrugged off over the back of the chair. His tie loosen, his jacket undone, his hair fallen out of place. The very picture of a broken child, he thought harshly, no fit King.

A knock startled him out of his skin.

He looked up through bleary eyes at the door creaking open a fraction with the sound. 

He wiped his face hurriedly on his sleaves, rubbed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths. It wouldn't do to be seen like this.

"Come in" he called, willing his voice not to shake. The door opened further, sending light from the hall way flooding into the darkness.

"Your Majesty" It was one of the servants. She did an odd little courtesy, as if only now remembering. Her face was flushed, her eyes worried, and her whole demeanor hushed.

"Yes?" He didn't mean to sound curt, but he supposed it sounded better then shaken.

She trembled a bit in her answer, out of breath and flustered "Your Majesty there's been a man found, sir, climbing the wall of the palace... he was trying to break in sir"


	2. It's not his fault he's an idiot

They swept through the castle. Down the winding corridors and narrow staircases towards the dungeon.

Darker and damper the castle grew the lower he got. Past the servants quarters that were always kept tidy, he went. Light struggled against tiny unscrubbed windows. They were rarely cleaned, the rain never reached them. 

The dungeons were not suppost to be nice. Heavy iron gates guarded all exits, heavier men were staioned either side ever doorway. The servant girl lead him as far as the entrance where they were met by Gallahad. 

"Your majesty" he intoned with a slight nod. He was a large looming figure in the cramped passage. Still in full royal garb, his hands resting on his belt which was decorated with a sword hilt and many smaller daggers.

The King knew Gallahad took pride in that sword and was a master of his art. The daggers however he was less so. In closure combat the King had won against him many times in trainning, much to the soldiers annoyance.

"Gallahad." he nodded back "You can go now, thank you" he told the servant girl. She courtesed again and scurried back up the steps, as eager to be out of the dungeon as to be out of Gallahad's presence. He could be so cruel.

"Your majesty, we have detained an intruder" the knight reported, throwing back his sholders and looking for all the world like a damn peacock about to try and mate. The King took no notice.

"An intruder?" He strode past the puffed up bird into the dungeon cell block.

Gallahad had to deflate somewhat to turn a follow his royal highness. He stayed in step behind the younger man, not quiet able to keep up with him in all that clanking metal.

"Yes sir, he was caught trying to jump the north wall, he got stuck trying to come back down the other side." The King could smell the wine on Gallahad's breath "It was my guards who captured him, I'm sorry to say there was a fight between the criminal and my men, sir"

Gallahad did not sound sorry in the slightest.

"Are the men hurt?" The King asked.

"Not to badly, sir. The prisoner is just down here, sir" he directed them to a small passage. One cell door stood open, light tumbling out. As the pair drew closure, the King could hear the apparent fight still going.

"I say we move to immediate execution, this man is clearly an assassin and very dangerous" Gallahad sounded like an eagle chick that had just been given a new mouse to torment and slaughter.

"And what gave you that impression?" The King didn't even bother looking at his knight, refusing to see the smug smile he would inevitably have.

"I found this in his possession" 

The King did look round at that. Gallahad had stopped holding a small brown paper bag triumphantly in one gloved fist.

"Its poison" he stated, doing a poor job at keeping the grin off his lips.

The King held out one hand for it, but since the knight seemed confused by this action the King snatched it out of his grasp.

The contence was light, soft as the bag crinkled in his fingers. He opened it and could tell immediately from the smell what it was.

The little balls of moss were no bigger than a wine cork, all miss-matched and slightly sparkling.

He rolled his eyes and threw the thing back at the idiotic knight. He didn't even check if he caught it before storming down the rest of the corridor.

The shouting was now legable, swearing and cursing from the knights punctuated by the thud of fist on flesh. A new voice raised, its curses out stripping those of the knights to be far more variable and colourful. It was a voice he knew, and longed to hear, although prehaps under different circumstances.

He entered the door way with a finger on his lips directed at the guard either side of the door. They did as they were told staying silent, except for the crash of metal when they both stood at attention.

There were four knights gathered around the prisoner. Two at each of his arms holding him back, another behind him a hand reaching round to grip his throat, and one in front wailing what seems to be another punch into the man's stomach. The cursing was cut short by the blow, a harsh exhale taking its place. The knights at his arms more holding him up now, rather then back.

A hat lay on the floor of the cell. It was even sillier here then it was on a man's head

The knight at his throat let go when he saw the King, standing to attention. The man's head flop foward and down making no move to come back up. The knight was about to land another punch but stopped, fist still drawn back. He glanced up at his counterpart and then over his sholder, snapping up right when he saw the new comer.

The King only raised one eyebrow, folding his arms.

The man lent forward more, taking his opportunity between assults. He spat on to the floor. A red stain landed a foot away. The knights at his arms try to jussle him upright but the man would not go. 

"That all you got, you bastards, my gran could do better" he tried to growl, but it came out slurred and breathy.

"Now now, are you saying my knights need more training?" The King asked, sarcasm dripping "If I recall you were never to fond of trainning, maybe it's you who needs more practice brother"

The man's head jerked up, locking eyes with the King. He was bloody as anything. His hair was matted at the side, red stainning his forehead. His eye and cheek were beginning to colour an excellent blue. His nose streamed with blood, his lip was split, and he was smiling.

The bastard was smiling, teeth red and mouth drooling. He spat again.

"Maybe, but I thought I'd go easy on the poor buggers" 

The King rolled his eyes. His brother was good at causing a scene.

"Alright, everyone out!" He called. When his order was not followed immediately he raised both eyebrows, and sent them all darting out of the cell. His brother fell forward when the knights dropped him.

"You too Gallahad" the King drawled, not even needing to check.

"But sir..."

"That's an order general. I'll call you if I need to" he waved his hand and waited for the bang of the cell door.

His brother swayed alittle on his hands and knees, blood oozing on the the floor. His knuckles were bloody and the King suspected he would have a fine tapestry of blues, blacks, and yellows on his chest tomorrow. 

The wizard tryed to look up, but his body failed him. His elbow gave way, and sent the rest of him crashing to the floor. 

The cold stone never came however as a strong arm caught him and hauld him back.

"I got you, I got you, you're alright" the King muttered, all but dragging his brother against the wall.

"Is that an order, your majesty?" Even battered to hells gate, his brother still managed to tease him.

"It might be in a minute."

His brother let out a low laugh. He lent himself against the wall, wincing alittle when he tried to straighten his left leg. The King let out a string of curses. 

He sat down next to him leaning on the wall. Smoothing out his cloak, he put one end around his brother's sholders. His brother made a move to push it off but stopped huffing in pain. The King rolled his eyes again.

Tilting his head back he stared at his brother in profile. That beaten face, he could see now his nose was broken. By the Gods. His brother's eyes were unfocused and alittle glazed, although one was starting to puff up, bruised.

"What?" His brother said.

"You're an idiot"

"That I can't disagree with" 

"The north wall? Seriously?"

"I know, I know" his brother started to route around in his pockets with his right hand.

"What were you even trying to do?"

His brother just shrugged. He seemed to find what he was looking for, pulling out another brown paper bag and papers. He put the bag in his left hand, and started to fill the paper with its contents.

"How much of that stuff do you have?"

"I've got more at home" the answer was nonchalant and uncommitted.

"How much have you had?"

His brother ignored that question flat out so the King tried a different tack.

"I could have you arrested for that."

"You could" he continued to roll reguardless. His right hand seemed fine but the King could now see the blood on his left. He wasn't moving it probably.

"What happened there?" He gestured at the hand.

"Gallahad stepped on it" 

By the Gods, the King was going to smack that stupid knight.

"Let me see. That is an order"

It was his brother's turn to roll his eyes. But he finished sealing his cigarette before he lifted it over. The King took it carefully, inspecting the bones. They were definitely broke in a couple of places, swelling already started.

"You need to stay the week." He concluded.

His brother snatched back from his grip "I'll be fine." He lit the cigarette with a match that came from no where inparticular. A huge puff of smoke followed, it was purple tinted.

"No, you're staying the week, I'm putting you in the medical wing"

"I'll stay one night, in my old room"

"Fine" the King knew he wasn't winning this debate tonight. He'd try again in the morning, the full weight of his brother's injuries laying on him giving the King the advantage. His brother smiled through another drag. That one was green. He held it infront of the King's face, which he took, taking in a lung full of smoke. It came out orange.

He could now more clearly smell the wine and moss on his brother's breath. He couldn't believe he couldn't smell it earlier. He was practically marinated in the stuff. There had been more pressing matters. 

"How long have you been drunk?"

"Since I found out" 

"When was that?" He handed the cigarette back.

"A while ago"

"Its only been a week"

"I had a feeling" he shrugged "I just wanted to be wrong." The next cloud was blue.

"Oh brother" he lent his head on his sholder.

They sat in silence for a beat. It had been months since they last seen each other, and then it had been brief. His brother had met them in the forest on a hunt, stayed alittle while to chat, before disappearing back into the wilderness. At the end of the King's leg, his foot rested next to the hat still on the floor.

"It really is very silly" he said, tapping the offending article gently.

"And this isn't?" His brother waggled the cloak around his sholder, but pulled it closer. "It still sort of smells of him."

"I know, it all sort of does"

His brother just nodded, taking a long drag. Blue again.

"So your king now?"

"I guess so" 

There was a long pause. The cigarette finished, his brother started to roll another one.

"I don't think you need anymore" the King said gently 

"You're probably right" he lit the thing anyway. The King took the smoke out if his brother's loose grip, intending to finish it himself. His brother seemed to let him, which was unusual. He looked back to find him sipping on a flask.

"Brother, no"

"Fuck you." it was short and sharp and for some reason hurt in a way he wasn't expecting. His brother didn't notice, taking the smoke back and hiding the flask in his jackets.

"I hate it when your like this." His voice was tierd, but he had been coronated that morning and now had to deal with this shit.

"Like what?" His brother snapped back.

"Like, I don't know" words failed him.

"You sound like Ma" he had curled in on himself alittle, shying away from his brother. It was a low blow. They both knew it. Their mother had died a few years ago, his brother disappearing more and more after that. He never belonged in the castle, the King knew that, and with no real reason to stay the young wizard had not.

They had both changed so much in that little time. No longer the boys who used to pass secret messages to eachother through the halls, with special ink his brother had concocted to only show up when held to candel light. With no other company, the King (then a prince) had thrown himself into his studies and training becoming so much more like his father. His brother had gone the other way. Solitude had left him harder, focussing on his magic in a way he hadn't before.

"I miss her" it was a tiny admission, nearly silent in the dungeon.

"Me too" it was just as quiet.

"You gonna miss your dad?" His brother looked into his eyes. They were so scared, so lost and wild. The King nodded.

"Do you miss yours?"

His brother shook his head "never knew him"

The King nodded again. He could understand that. Hard to miss something you never knew. The late King had never really been a father to his step-son, clearly favouring his own heir. Their mother had made excuses, and had been a brilliant mother to both of them.

They were brothers however and that bond had never left. Practically twins, only a few months apart, they had been through everything together. Friends from their boarding school had joked that they were secretly psych. They had joked between them that it was more like secretly psychotic.

He hated seeing his brother like this. If he had just stayed in the castle, he could have help. If he had just stayed in contact, they could atleast try. 

He had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed the older had passed out on his arm on the floor of the dungeon. He lifted his hand to gently comb through the other's hair. It came out a little bloody.

By the Gods.

\---

True to his word, the wizard stayed one night in his old room. And after much pestering from the King allowed the royal nurse to check him over.

By the next morning however, he was gone.

A neatly written note lay on the pillow when the King came to check on him.

_Sorry I couldn't stay. I will be okay. If you let anymore knights near me I will not be held responsible. I will be better at sneaking in next time. P_

The King smiled, alittle sadly, but the sadness was not long lasting. As he held the note up to the candel light in his office he could faintly see the inscription of an address at the bottom. Ment for his eyes only.

His brother was an idiot, but the King supposed that wasn't his fault.


	3. Amongst the loons and ginkgo leaves

The sun was bright. Its glare filtered through the canopy. The path was over grown and matted. The King lead his horse carefully through the trees.

The forest opened up to a clearing. A hut lay lazy at the other side. A fence surrounding the property was damaged in places but marked out a neat garden. Vegetables lined wooden boxes, carrot tops growing tall, bean sprouts taller, and a selection of green flourished in to plants the King could not name. A small pound was dug out to the left, the edge marked by more flora. A hand pump stood with a bucket stationed underneath catching the odd drip.

As the King drew closer the door to the hut swang open. The figure that emerged was small, jackets swamping his bones. The point of a hat brushed the frame as a hand waved a welcome.

"Good morning" the King called bringing his stallion to a gentle hault.  
His brother murmured a response as he closed the door behind him.

The King watched for a moment. His brother reached into one of many pockets, rooted around for a moment before pulling out a heavy set of keys. He slid one into the lock and spoke in low tones an incantion as he turned the metal.

"You'll have to leave the horse" he reported, turning back to the King. The King didn't argue, slipping from the saddle. He lead his horse to the fence, tying the reigns to a post.

His brother cross the garden. He reached up his hands, stoking the horse's nose.

"His name Gusto" the King told him, taking his bag and bow from the saddle. His brother nodded. Gusto braided softly.

"He doesn't like that name" his brother said as a replie.

"What?"

"He doesn't like the name Gusto, he prefers Sebastian" the wizard explained.

"Okay" the King sounded sceptical "you speak horse now do you?"

His brother made no response, but began to murmur in a language the King didn't know. Gusto braid again, shuffling on his hooves. The Wizard nodded, then untied the reigns from the fence and guided Gusto round to a gate. Once the horse was inside the garden he slipt the bit from the horse's mouth and pulled the saddle from his back. He sat it down near the door, the King staring on shocked.

"He'll be good" the Wizard said seeing his brother's look.

"Will he now?" The King raised one eyebrow.

"Yep" the Wizard popped the p, then picked up a bow and quiver from out of a bush. He sholdered both, picking up a staff that lent nestled against the door frame. There was a strap knotted to either end, the wood itself was twisted and gnarled. The top flared out to a cage like structure that held the air swirling and grand. The Wizard adjusted his load striding out of his property.

"Come on" was all he said and marched off in to the forest. The King could only laugh quietly to himself and obediently follow. His poor brother was a mad man.

-

They trekked for a time, ducking under branches following some invisible path his brother lay out. The King stayed at the Wizard's heal, careful as he was to not distrupt the shrubbery too much.

The Wizard watches the younger carefully out of one eye. His brother seemed well. Colour crept up his cheeks gently in the spring sun. The season was beginning to turn, the forest shrugging off the scorns of winter to blossom into new life.

This was his home, and it was beautiful, he lamented. He was at ease here. Ears tuned into the brush of leaves and snap of twigs, eyes flicking through the shifting dance of the lights and shadows, feet following the steps over root and rock. Peace was quickly found here.

A crash broke the quiet. A bird darted out into flight, breaking into the sky. The Wizard turned at the sound of an arrow leaving its quiver. His brother had drawn aimming at the animal. The Wizard put his arm out, knocking the arrow from its notch.

"Its a loon" he gave in replie to his brother's offronted look, "she's building a nest" 

He pointed up into the canopy where a small weaving of sticks and leaves had begun. The King followed his gesture, squinting into the tree. And why was that important? He looked to his brother for answer but the Wizard continued on, only half checking if his brother followed.

He did. He always would. The Wizard had no doubt about that.

They carried on for a way. The morning turning to afternoon. The Wizard would stop every so often, before switching directions taking in the wind and moss growth to lead his brother to the right spot. 

He sensed his prize in the bushes. A squirrel leaped out of the shrubbery on to tree. Both men drew, arrows sailing through the air pinning the small thing twice, once in the head and again in its body.

He stalked over to the tree, tugging out his brother's arrow handing it back to him.

"Good shot" he said.

"Thank you" his brother wiped the arrow head on his trousers before returning it to his quiver. The Wizard put away his own arrow before wrapping the animal in a linen and stuffing it in a pouch under his first jacket.

They caught four squirrels, all going into the pouch. They were going to eat well tonight. The second his brother hit, the Wizard missing by millimetres. The third the Wizard hit before the King had time to draw. The forth they both hit in near enough the same spot. They were falling back into the easy rhythm they had always had when they were boys.

There was a simplicity out here. A calm that settled his bones and blew away the restraints of the city. They were part of something here. Small cogs in a bigger machine, infinitely old and uncaring of their presence. Nature ruled, not man, moss scaling trees, birds scraping the sky, life biting against reason. It was easy to lose one's self in the breeze, let worries float into nothing.

The King became lost into it, not noticing his brother stop. Tension crawled into the Wizard, something was nagging at his ear, pulling his gaze to something unseen, darkness looming. 

A flash of red knocked the King out of his musings. It only just missed as he whirled around. Feet landed hard, knees bent, sword drawn. He scoured the treeline for the next bolt of energy, mind yanked out of peace into the battle.

The Wizard adopted a similar pose trained into him in the castle as a boy. Instead of a sword however he brandished his staff.

The brother's locked eyes for a moment, checking the other was alright, before slipping back to back defensively.

Another bolt of red fired past them, the brothers moving in unison to dodge it. The Wizard could faintly make out a figure camouflage in the green. He muttered quickly, the top of his staff surging into blue. He brought it down sharp, sending a blue burst at the mass. A thud and groan confirmed he had hit his target.

Within the same beat, another figure leaped out of the shadows. A sword raised in his hands and an astonishing cry emanating from his mouth. The King parried the blow, the shattering sound of metal on metal signaling for the others to move in. 

They had been almost surrounded. Six men shrouded in blacks and greens vaulted from the tree line, rushin towards them.

The brother's held ground. Twisting this way and that, to defend the other. The King fought sword in hand. Blocking, jabbing, wielding the silver till it was a blur. He sliced the first man across the stomach where his armour had risen with his arms. The man fell back as the King sent a kick to his sholder forcing him down. The next had tried to cut his brother, but was met with steal across his face, barely missing his eye. His attacker's blade caught his arm enough to draw blood, but was shoved away with a right hook from the Wizard's staff.

Blue shot out, crashing with red aimed at the King's head. The caster was pushed back by another ball of cracklin light, as the Wizard hit his target, the man's belly. A face appeared again from his left, which the wizard struck down with his elbow, not letting him advance and spliting his lip. Distracted by this for a second he did not notice the man advancing to his right. He got close enough to slip a dagger across the Wizard's leg. He heard his trousers rip before the assailant was slashed away by his brother's sword.

Another man ran forward, another ear slipting battle cry proceeding him. The King pushed his brother out of the way, to begin an intricate sword fight.

Gallahad would have been proud, as the King intercepted the man's attempts. The terrible clanging of metal echoed through the trees. This man was good. But not good enough. The King almost easily out maneuvered him, backing him into a corner before delivering one final headbutt square on the man's forehead. That move was prehaps unbecoming to a gentleman of the art, but who was counting.

The man slumped down, unconscious and the King span to face his next attacker. There was none however. Five bodies lay groaning on the floor, the last still fighting his brother.

They had tackled eachother down to the ground, hand to hand combat as both tryed to lay punches in. His hat had fallen somewhere in the fury, now forgotten in the leaves. The Wizard scrabled at the dirt, the man managing to get on top of him and pin him down.

The King watched in horror, before his legs sprang into action. The man holding his brother down was alot broader then both of them, using his weight with a knee on his brother's stomach. His brother jostled futally, a small dagger knocked away as another punch found his nose. 

The closeure the King got, he could hear the man intoning something. He had no idea what it was, but it didn't sound good. His brother seemed to know, doubling his efforts to escape. The King raised his sword high above the warring men, bringing it down on the man's skull with a sickening crunch. At the same moment his sword hit, a blue rush sent the man flying back, slamming into a tree high off the ground.

The body landed with a thunck, amour battering uselessly against flesh. His head was struck in two, blood oozing from the crack like wine cutting veins down his face. The King took a moment to stare at him, eyes unfocused and bulging his mouth hanging permanently open, before a grunt from below him snapped his attention back.

His brother lay in a heap on the forest floor. Tendrils of blue snaking out from the crevices in his staff that was bared across his sholders. The King let out a string of curses as he went to assess the damage and saw a dagger jutting out from his brother's side.

"Hey, hey, hey, I got you, I got you" the King muttered, kneeling over his brother to take the blade out.

"No!" Splutted the Wizard "leave it in" his hand guarding the hilt. This was no time to argue.

"Fine, but we got to go" reported the King "Now." There was no knowing if there were more men lerking in the shadows. They had to move, get to safety. His brother only nodded, moving one hand to grip the staff using it to anchor him upright.

The King helped, taking the other arm over his sholders and hauling his brother up. The Wizard winced, trying to hold his wait on his own legs but finding it mostly on his staff. By the Gods.

"Wait" he called. The King reluctant to before he spotted what his brother was reaching for. A very silly hat was picked up and plopped back on his head.

"Okay lets go" 

They went.

-

Back through the forest was no easy feat. The King had no idea where they were and little more as to where they were going, although his brother seemed to know. He gave little directions, voice panting and horse. They hiked back over rough terrain, now only their own breath was heard filling the silence.

They were too far away from the castle, the King knew that, but the sense of relief was indescribable as the silhouette of his brother's hut came into view.

Gusto still stood in the garden, contentedly munching on a patch of grass away from the vegetables, oblivious to the world around him. Lucky beast, the King thought bitterly. 

They hobbled to the fence, the gate swinging open, apparently welcoming its owner home. The door did not allow them the same courtesy. The Wizard returned the staff to its spot, dropping his arrows and quiver in the same movement. He tryed to stand on his own for a moment, but swayed so heavy he ended up lent on his brother anyway.

"Sorry" he almost whispered, sounding genuinely put out.

"Shut up and find your key" the King tryed to keep his tone light but panic gripped his words anyway.

The Wizard fished around in his pocket before finding the thing, jamming it in the lock and turning.

The door now did swing, a gust of air blowing into the small space. Candles seemed to flicker into life as the Wizard stepped over the threshold, the King tryed not to think about it too much, chalking it up to wierd magic powers. He was grateful for the light anyway having no idea where his brother kept his matches.

There was a small cot in the far corner. It was laden with blankets and cushions, books stacked beside it, mugs and paper balanced on top. He tugged his brother over to it, the Wizard all but falling on to the mattress.

"Bandages" he rasped "in the dresser." He pointed over to a cabinet on the other wall of the small room. The King lept over to it, pulling at all the drawers till he found his prize. 

When he turned back to the bed, his brother had stripped off his jackets, only a thin linen shirt remained. The dagger was thrust through the material fixing the fabric to the wound. It was soaked, wet and sodden with his blood.

"Scissors, on the shelf" the Wizard pointed up and the King grabbed the blades. His brother took them, cutting the shirt open quickly, and handed them back.

"Okay, okay" he gasped, trying to get his breathing under control. His face was pale, eyes sucked back into their sockets. His skin was shinning with sweat, chest rising and falling in ragged pants.

"I'm going to take this out" his hand rested on the hilt of the dagger. "Unwrap the gauze, then as soon as you can put it over" 

The King just nodded, doing as he was told. The Wizard nodded back. He took in three large gulps of air.

"Ready...

1...

2...

3..." He yanked the knife out, yelling at the pain. The King surged forward, thrusting the bandage over the wound and held it tight, trying to keep the blood in. As soon as the white hit his skin his brother visibly relaxed, sighing relief.

"Good" he said "good, you did good" he found the King's eye and held it. His gaze was steady in the candel light, his hands reaching over to take the bandage from the King and wrapping around his torso. He tied it in a tight knot, checked it wasn't caught anywhere and sat back in the bed.

A smile crept on to his face, as he took his brother's hand again. The King couldn't help but smile back as the pair began to laugh giddily endorphins flooding both their systems.

The King lent over his brother, pressing their foreheads together. By the Gods.

"Its alright, its alright, we did it" his brother repeated over and over, like one of his spells. There were almost tiers in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" His brother asked. The King ignored the pain in his arm and nodded.

"Okay" his brother's breathes were even now. Long and deep and the King could tell he was near sleep. He sat back, finding a chair stationed by the bed, flopping into it. 

"Rest" he whispered, still clutching his brother's hand. He was half expecting a retort but when he cast a glance over his brother had already fallen asleep.

-

The little chair creeked alittle under him as he sagged in its frame. The King took this moment to flick his eyes over his brother's home.

It was small, all one room. The walls tilted in alittle and the roof came in low, but the King found no sense of claustrophobia in the space.

A large table dominated the other side. Shelves and cupboards lined the walls, books stacked tightly in them. Some housed small bottles and glass tubes corked at the top, holding all manner of treasures the King could only guess at. A kitchen at the far wall was marked by the cupboards becoming wall mounted and a serfice top just visible in the mess. 

The floor was clean however, a well worn broom stood in one corner amongst buckets and blankets. In the faint light the candles let out the hut was soft and glowing. His brother had carved himself out a little home in the forest. It suited him well.

-

The King must have dosed off at some point, as he awoke with a start. He looked over at the bed, finding his brother gone. Instead he was up at the other end of the hut shuffled around the kitchen. He noticed his brother's wake, shooting him a grin over one sholder.

He plucked a kettle from the stove, pouring steam in to two mugs before he trailed over.

He handed one to the King, who took it with both hands, grateful for the heat on chilled fingers. The tea was bitter but sweet, and he could feel it run dowm his throat as he took a sip.

The Wizard placed his own mug down on a precarious stack of books, sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked better already. Colour had returned to his face, the sheen of sweat gone. The bandage was still wrapped tight around his middle. The King inspected it from his perch. It was as clean as when he had put it on. Curious. He would have expected some bleed through from a wound that deep, but no. It was still a crisp and as white as it had been. Wierd magic powers.

"Let me see."

His brother's request snapped him out of his worry. The King followed his gaze to the cut on his own arm.

"Its fine" he said. And it was. The cut hadn't been too deep, the skin already melding back together.

"Let me see" his brother repeated, holding out his hand expectingly. The King rolled his eyes but compiled.

The Wizard scrutinised it carefully.

"Its fine" he concluded but didn't let go, as he reached over to another set of draws rummaging around in one.

He pulled out a small jar of a white cream and began applying it carefully to the damaged spot.

"This is just for infection" he explained "should be gone in a day or two"

"Aww, no cool scar?" The King asked, a mocking whine imitating his brother at a younger age when their mother had patched them up from scrapped knees and play fights.

His brother huffed a laugh, "you'll be fine."

He grinned full force up at him, letting go of the King's hand work apparently complete. The King hummed softly, going back to his tea. His brother sipped his own mug, smacking his lips at the taste.

"The nights come in now, you'll have to stay until morning." There was no question in it but the King replied anyway.

"Okay"

They sat in silence for a beat, a question nagging at the King's mind. Thoughs men in the forest had been magic users. If they had been trying to kill the reigning monarch they were a threat to the kingdom. If they weren't, was his brother safe out here alone?

"Who were they?" The King asked.

"Local trouble, don't worry about it." The Wizard took another swig of his tea.

"When has the phrase 'don't worry about it' ever stopped anyone worring?"

His brother chuckled lightly.

"I'm not the most popular magic user out here, probably just some bandits who got more then they bargained for"

The image of the last man wondered into the King's mind. Skull struck in two, eyes swelling as if he had been electrocuted. He shock it away. Another day, he thought, something to deal with on another day.

"Budge up then" he called, standing from the chair moving over to the bed.

His brother did so with a tut, letting the other arrange himself on the mattress next to him. He lent his head rest on the King's sholder. He would get up and cook dinner in a moment, sort out the squirrels in his jacket and show the King what culinary delights he was missing in the castle. For now though he was happy just to sit, his brother's warmth more then adequate company in the dim light of his hut. Peace was easily found here.

-

He saw his brother off in the morning. Fed him up with enough squirrel bacon and eggs and fried potato and toast and beans matched with tea and biscuits as he could, before sending him on his way. Sebastian braid softly as the Wizard gave him very specific instructions on how to return the King home.

The King waved from his saddle as he trotted away from the clearing. Stomach prehaps alittle too full and a pouch ramped with biscuits for the journey back swingingfrom his back. That morning the forest was back to its calm self.

Somewhere in the trees loon built her nest ready for her young, and the ginkgo trees bloomed new leaves in the dancing twirling light.


End file.
